


How to Reprogram Your Life

by AuroraWest



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: This was a fresh start. A new game. A new life. Turbo moves into Sugar Rush and starts over.





	How to Reprogram Your Life

_Day 0_

Turbo looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t know who he was looking at for a second because there were brown eyes staring back out at him. Brown eyes with sunken purple circles of exhaustion below them, whites rimmed with red and no yellow to be seen.

He blinked slowly and adjusted the position of his crown on his head. _Stop thinking of yourself as Turbo_.

King Candy stared at himself in the mirror and straightened his bow tie.

* * *

_Day 1_

Their names were utterly ridiculous. The only one he could remember off-hand was Candlehead, and that was only because he wasn’t a _simpleton_. Maybe he should have made his own name more complicated, King Candycorn Gumdropson, well no that was _stupid_ but maybe that was the point.

Turbo—no no no, why couldn’t he get this right, he was King Candy, not just because that was the lie, the identity he’d created for himself, but because this was a fresh start. A new game. A new _life_.

King Candy stared at the list he’d scribbled down while he was at the stadium and the jumbotron had displayed all their names. He had to admit he’d sighed in relief when his had been up there too, the right name that was, and his new avatar even though he still looked like a stranger to himself. He’d tried to make himself look lovable. That was the thing, he’d never looked _lovable_ before, and he’d always thought if people were going to love him he should look the part. Right?

Anyway, he was the king so he had to know all their names, but they made him giggle and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to address any of them with a straight face. Jubileena Bing-Bing? Rancis Fluggerbutter? Taffyta _Muttonfudge_? Who had come up with this stuff? He would have thought he was in a sissy kids’ game if he hadn’t watched these kids with their ridiculous names race.

And programmers. _They could race_.

He’d watched when he’d first gotten there, hidden behind a gumdrop, as they’d careened around the tracks, just-plugged-in-glee shining on their faces. His heart had swelled, felt like it was shredding in his chest out of—out of…joy. This was what he’d waited for. This was why he’d hung onto his sanity. Which he had, hadn’t he? Oh well, he’d go with yes, who was going to argue?

But that joy, he hadn’t felt it in so long. He stared at the list of their ridiculous names and imagined racing against them. It was going to be a challenge and he _loved_ a challenge—sure, winning all the time was great and everything, but if he was going to win he wanted it to be because he was the _greatest_. Which he was. The greatest ever.

The little acid green sour ball who was supposed to be his advisor trundled into the throne room morosely, and King Candy straightened up. “Sour Bill, if I asked you who the greatest racer in this game is…who would you say it is?”

“You, Your Majesty,” Sour Bill droned.

King Candy smiled smugly because it was one thing to lock up memories, but it was _another_ to make false ones. He’d managed to do both. Sour Bill didn’t remember Vanellope von Schweetz. None of them did.

Then, a stray thought flitted through his head, and he glanced down at his list. Tilting his head at it, he asked, “And…the second?”

Sour Bill blinked slowly and King Candy’s heart clenched in fear. Was that a stupid question? He should have known, of course he should have, he’d always been part of the game, didn’t rip out the code of a little girl and try to delete her only to turn her into a glitchy brat who’d cried in confusion and hurt— “Taffyta Muttonfudge,” Sour Bill replied.

Oh. Yes. King Candy looked down at his list again. There she was. Taffyta Muttonfudge, right at the top. Kart number one. And second best in _Sugar Rush_ meant almost best. It meant, more importantly, that the best needed to always watch his back.

He thought back. Which one was Taffyta Muttonfudge, again?

* * *

_Day 10_

He loved this game. He practiced all night, every night, and every once in awhile he collapsed from exhaustion and then he dreamt about racing, his fingers twitching in his sleep, shifting gears. It would wake him up and then he’d close his eyes and sleep and dream some more, and it was the first time in a decade that his dreams hadn’t all been nightmares. Then he’d get up and eat more sugar and wonder if he was ever going to get used to the sugar rush. Hoohoohoo, sugar rush, that was funny, just like the name of the game.

He didn’t even make the roster the first five days and that one, that pink one, that little strawberry racer with the number one on her kart, _Taffyta_ , she was so smug and self-satisfied about the fact that she got first every day. But he knew he just needed practice. He’d been holed up under Game Central Station for _years_ , after all, and before that he raced on tracks that were so simple in comparison, against just two NPCs. There was no Gumball Gorge in _TurboTime_ , no Sweet Seekers or Cherry Bombs or Sprinkle Spikes. He was getting the hang of it though, and on the sixth day he got ninth in the Random Roster Race, then fifth, then third, then second, and tonight he placed first and that _did_ wipe the smirk off Taffyta’s face.

He was a fast learner.

But then she smiled at him and said, “Congratulations, Your Majesty.” He tilted his head at her, not even checking the jumbotron to see how she placed. He knew without looking. He always knew his competition.

It was easier to consider congratulating her when he was holding a gold trophy and she had a silver one. In _TurboTime_ he would have been grudging. He’d always been stingy with his congratulations. But he had to be King Candy now and King Candy _loved_ his subjects. “You too,” he said, and then he pondered whether he should call her by her first or last name.

But then she skipped off and the moment was gone. He didn’t even have to say her name at all.

* * *

_Day 13_

The throne room was his favorite place in _Sugar Rush_. Well no, not his favorite, he liked all the racetracks better, _obviously,_ but if you didn’t count those. The throne room, his kart that fit into the throne back (it was so _clever_ , it delighted him the first time he understood what he was looking at), it was the tangible evidence of his victory. Of the fact that he’d waited and suffered and survived, and he was finally being rewarded. Well no, not rewarded, really, he’d made this for himself. He’d done _all_ of this himself because he was brilliant. Brilliant? _Ha_. He was a genius, basically. He’d gone from nothing, a homeless, gameless racer, just trying to survive, trying not to lose his mind—did he succeed there? Sometimes he’s not so sure, but anyway, what had he known about code? But he’d started from scratch and taught himself all of it.

Sometimes people would come see him in the throne room, his _subjects_ , the thought never stopped delighting him. He could see how much they loved him. Well of _course_ they did, they didn’t remember Vanellope von Schweetz. Really, it was like Vanellope wasn’t even the real princess. She hadn’t even done anything when she’d had the chance to be _Sugar Rush’s_ ruler. Well, not that she’d really had much of a chance. But still.

He’d talked with all the racers by then. They’d all wandered in to tell him something or another, give him some gift that they thought would get them in his good graces, _better_ graces, he did strive to give the impression that he was always in a good mood and well he _was_ , actually, there wasn’t any reason not to be in a good mood.

Well, that was the thing. All of them except _one_ had visited. Taffyta Muttonfudge hadn’t come to see him. He knew they were rivals, and more importantly, he could tell that _she_ knew too, and that made it real, that made every race a contest of wills and skill between them and she was still probably winning more races but he’d change that before the month was over.

But he was pretty sure that was why Taffyta hadn’t stopped by. He was pretty sure Taffyta didn’t really like him, just like he was pretty sure _he_ didn’t like Taffyta.

So her appearance was notable.

He was lounging on the throne when she came in, not actually in the kart’s seat but across the front of it, kicking his legs and admiring the way the bells on his shoes sparkled. _He’d done that._ It was a nice touch that he’d thought of right at the end of the whole coding process and it wasn’t a crime to admire your own handiwork, right?

Taffyta herself may have been the sparkliest racer in the game. Light from the high, arching windows caught the glitter on her dress and hat. Not just the glitter, the white-blonde of her hair, her eyes, ridiculously huge and blue—she was adorable and she knew it. King Candy wondered if she knew how aware he was that she’d use that on anyone, up to and including him.

Usually she strutted around like she owned the whole game. He pondered for a moment what the relationship was supposed to have been between her and Vanellope. Friends? Rivals? Something in between? He’d never know. And really, when he thought about it, he didn’t care all that much.

But at the moment, she wasn’t strutting. Oh, she had confidence written all over her, but there was something else in the way she walked in. It took King Candy a second to remember what it was, because it had been been so _long_ since anyone had done it around him.

Respect. Not just respect—respect from the game’s top dog.

“Miss Muttonfudge,” he said, straightening up and hopping off his kart as she approached. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She stopped a courteous distance from him and he caught a flicker of something on her face that looked like—nervousness? “No special reason,” she said. “I just figured…well, everyone else has come by since the game got plugged in, so I guess it’s like, a thing we’re doing.”

He’d had a lot of time to ponder consciousness, and what it meant to be alive (and was he living all those years or was he floating in limbo), which memories were real and which were programmed fabrications and whether or not it mattered and he wasn’t sure he’d come to any kind of conclusion. But he sometimes thought that all that idle wondering as he’d sat alone in the bowels of Game Central Station were what made him program such convincing memories for the denizens of _Sugar Rush_.

But he hadn’t programmed _that_. Hadn’t even thought of it actually—this coming to visit him in the castle the racers had been doing. That, apparently, was new.

He wondered what felt more real to her. To any of them. It depended, he guessed, on how good his programming was. He himself—or, well, Turbo—hadn’t even been programmed with a backstory. He didn’t even know how old he was supposed to be. Thirty-four? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? He was just there. There to race and win and race and win and race and race and—well yes. The _Sugar Rush_ racers were kind of thin in that department too, but all their little backstories had been there in their code. They each had their _thing_. And what was Taffyta’s thing, again?

Oh. Right. Of course. He suppressed a giggle. Winning. He supposed that made them similar. Two peas in a pod. _That_ was a funny thought. The idea of him having anything in common with this stuck-up, prissy, pink little blonde brat was ridiculous.

“Is it?” he finally asked, then shrugged. “But what bringsth _you_ here, specifically? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, you know, it’s always a wonderful day of racing out there, you really do your best, don’t you, I mean, I appreciate the challenge, of course.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

Her reaction made his brain skid to a stop for a second and stall. He’d thought the reason she hadn’t come was because she didn’t _like_ him. Because she was jealous, but then again, why would she be jealous, because she was winning more than him, but she was probably smart enough to see how fast he was improving so yes, jealousy made sense. But the way she was looking at him…he’d been wrong. He’d completely misread this.

For a second, his hands came up to chest level and his fingers curled and he just stared at her. Then he smiled, easy and charming, he had a much nicer smile now than he ever had before, if he said so himself, which he did because no one else was going to say it, were they? “Well, of course really. If I _alwaysth_ won, it wouldn’t be much fun, would it?”

Taffyta shook her head. Would she call him out on the fact that he _didn’t_ always win? That she actually won more races? She cocked her head at him. If anything, she looked nervous. “How are you doing it?”

His smile didn’t budge. Doing what? Did she know? How could she know though, he’d locked up their memories, they’d shown no indication they remembered, not one; not one memory that was, and not one indication either. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She hesitated, but then she said, “When we got plugged in, you…well…you weren’t…um…well you got last place, and I just thought…”

_Spit it out. Stop wasting my time._ But he just kept smiling at her, because he was their kindly king, benevolent King Candy, there for all his subjects. Of course he didn’t _dislike_ any of them. Even if he did. Taffyta and her smug smile, he didn’t _hate_ her but she rubbed him the wrong way. She was too good. And she _knew_ she was good, she knew she was better than him, even if it was only for the moment, just for this very brief moment while he figured out a particularly steep learning curve. He was Tu—wait no. No no. He was King Candy. That was better than being what he’d been.

“Yes?” he said.

But she shook her head. “No, nothing. Sorry, it was stupid. I—um—” Panic flashed across her face and then she dropped an awkward curtsey. It was all he could do not to laugh. “See you tomorrow, Your Majesty.”

And then she didn’t even wait to be dismissed, she just _left_. As he watched her go, he tilted his head. So. Taffyta Muttonfudge didn’t dislike him at all. Taffyta Muttonfudge—what? Admired him? Interesting.

He sat back down on the hood of his kart.

Very interesting. 

* * *

_Day 15_

No. No no no no no no no _no_.

King Candy desperately ripped at connections, shoving them into a flickering pile behind him. Was that all of them? He’d gotten all of them before but now he had fifteen days’ worth of memories to find and lock up, and it was exponentially more complicated, and if he missed one, even _one_ , it could all come crumbling down around him, like a, like a—like a stale cookie, yes he was King Candy so _think like King Candy_.

He took a deep breath and held his hands out in front of him. King Candy’s hands, not Turbo’s. King Candy’s lace-cuffed sleeves, not Turbo’s. He’d done that. He’d coded that for himself. He could lock up their memories again. And this time, he’d do a better job making sure they didn’t get back out.

It was his fault, oh yes, he could admit that, it was his fault because he was—well he was _soft_ , that was what he was. He’d felt like a _monster_ and he hadn’t liked the feeling, so he’d made a stupid mistake. Vanellope had gotten into the kart factory and baked herself a kart and well, you know, what was it going to hurt? Really? The way she’d cried when he’d kicked her out of the castle and told her _stop it, you’re not a racer_ because quite honestly he’d taken a shine to her kart, and he was the king, right? So the king had to have the Royal Racer, it didn’t make sense any other way. And she didn’t know she was the princess anyway, so actually, when you thought about it, she was trying to take something that wasn’t hers. Er, that she thought wasn’t hers. Even if technically it was.

So he’d let her show up at the starting line with her kart for the night’s Random Roster Race. How was he supposed to know? Except he should have, he reprogrammed this _game_ , he was brilliant. Oh well, live and learn, right, except this learning experience was way more _fraught_ than he really cared for it to be, someone had surely seen where he’d gone, Sour Bill if no one else, because Sour Bill was the only one in this game who knew what King Candy had done.

The glitch hadn’t even won. She’d come in dead last, couldn’t stop glitching, she’d taken out Jubileena Bing-Bing and Gloyd Orangeboar because of it, who had come in thirteenth and fourteenth. And she didn’t know who she really was, so fine, yes, it was fine, she could race. Except she’d crossed the finish line and something had _happened_ , the scales had fallen from all their eyes and they’d all looked around in confusion, and Vanellope was back in her princess dress, and he hadn’t waited around for them to start asking awkward questions. The only other time he’d driven so fast was that desperate, screaming ride through the _RoadBlaster’s_ cord, after Litwak had said, “ _Turbo?_ I don’t know, kids. Better unplug these games for now,” and panic had flooded him and the only thing he’d been able to think about was not dying.

He worked quickly, focused, _don’t make mistakes_ and then he had it, and he closed the box around all their memories and locked it again.

And then he stopped. The code hummed around him, flashing silently. He could do this. He could. Everything would be fine, because he’d make sure it was fine.

For a second, he closed his eyes, seeing pink flashes and flickers on the backs of his eyelids. The hum of the code calmed his racing heart. Everything was fine. If he had to erase their memories a hundred times, he’d do it.

As he swam back out of the code vault, he glanced at Vanellope’s code, broken and flickering. One little girl was a small price to pay.

* * *

_Day 16—kind of Day 15, actually, but you know, technically after midnight which makes it Day 16_

He almost chucked his stupid silver trophy at that smug little brat’s head. Taffyta Muttonfudge had gotten first place. Eighteen days, innumerable hours of practice, two memory erasures, and she’d _won_. This was how _her_ life started, beating him in the Random Roster Race. It was almost enough to make him go lock their memories up again.

* * *

_Day 19_

“King Candy?”

He jumped, and he was surprised he didn’t jump entirely out of his skin because that was what it felt like for one skin-crawling moment. Not that he wasn’t used to it, it had been this way for—okay, well, maybe not forever, but long enough. No one had ever accused him of being calm. He’d been accused of a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them.

Anyway. Taffyta Muttonfudge was there when he turned around, and what exactly did she think she was doing here? There he’d been, trying to enjoy a nice stroll through Strawberry Fields—the bees didn’t seem dangerous, they just buzzed around and ignored him so, well, live and let live, he figured, honestly, that really _was_ how he felt, it was just, you know, sometimes unfortunate sacrifices had to be made, if someone was in the way, well, what was he going to do? It was him or them. Him or Vanellope. A kingdom couldn’t have two rulers. He wasn’t going to share.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She looked surprised. “I live here.” Then her face turned red. “I mean, not like, right _here_.” Pointing over a small rise, she said, “My house is over there.”

Well that…made sense. Could he fault her for that? Walking near her house? Despite his dislike for her, he guessed he really couldn’t. “Oh,” he said. Wait, should he have known that? Did this place have a census? Was he supposed to know where all his subjects lived? That was a thought, maybe he needed to _create_ a census, yes, then he’d know, and it wouldn’t be suspicious, it would all be official government business.

As far as Taffyta knew, they’d been plugged in three days ago. A twinge of guilt crawled through him. But that was just another part of the sacrifice, right? It was just _time_. She was still a racer. Really, even if she’d had any idea what he’d done, she wouldn’t have any reason to complain.

“Of course you do,” he said ebulliently, waving a hand. “Sorry, you know, not sure where my mind is today…”

But she didn’t even really seem to have noticed anything, she was twisting her fingers together nervously. What was her problem? Oh, right—he’d thought she didn’t like him, but he’d been wrong about that, hadn’t he? Except that was before he’d locked her memories up for a second time, so she didn’t remember any of that. Funny how she was acting the same way though, nervous and shy like she idolized him or something. He hadn’t programmed that. All he’d done was give them false memories of the fact that he’d always been king. Their personalities, well, those he’d left untouched. What did he care about how they acted?

She wasn’t shy on the track, that was for sure; _there_ she had no problem cutting him off, aiming those damn Sweet Seekers at him; she was a ruthless little cavity.

She reminded him of himself and he hated her for it.

Sucking in a deep breath, Taffyta said, “King Candy—er, Your Majesty—um, I had to chase Vanellope von Schweetz away from the kart factory today.”

The blood drained from his face. “You what?”

“That’s what you wanted us to do, right?” she asked. “You said she couldn’t race. Because of the glitching.”

Yes. Yes that had been one of his finer moments, hadn’t it? Of course it happened to be _true_ , if the gamers saw her doing that, there’d be no way they’d want to keep playing as her, who wanted a glitchy, defective racer on the roster? Not that she could be on the roster at all, you only got on the roster by crossing the finish line and he knew what happened if he let that, well, happen, but none of the rest of them needed to know that. All they needed to know was that her glitching was dangerous. “Why, yes, of course! Of course, Miss Muttonfudge, that’sth very—well done.”

Did he need to say something else? Thank you for your service? Did he need to start giving out medals, here? _I hereby award thee the Medal of Honor, for deeds performed in service of Sugar Rush_. Maybe if he got bored. Even though every day he was convinced someone was going to figure it out, they were going to know somehow, the rest of the arcade was going to come storming in here and expose him and he’d be lucky to survive the unsurvivable twice. So he didn’t think he’d be here long enough to come up with ridiculous ceremonies, not deep down. Every day he eked out in this game was another testament to his genius, but doubts pricked at that and his ego was like a sieve.

Taffyta was still twisting her fingers together, though she looked pleased that he’d told her she’d done the right thing. “And then I told her exactly why she can’t race, and how she’s just causing problems, and she needs to cut it out before something bad happens. I mean, like, we just got plugged in, and she already wants to ruin everything.”

For a second, he stood there. Taffyta had taken his warning about Vanellope so deeply to heart that she’d been willing to police the glitch for him. He could use that. He _should_ use that. They were his subjects, these bratty little racers, and if he told them to keep Vanellope down, they would.

He opened his mouth. And then he stopped. _Was_ he a monster? How much of himself had eroded away, and was he willing to let the rest of it go?

King Candy closed his mouth. “Thank you. But you know, Miss Muttonfudge, I really must ask you to stay away from Vanellope. She’sth a threat to you, she’s a threat to _me_ —” _Especially to me._ “—she’s a threat to this game.” He hesitated. “Let Wynchel and Duncan handle her. If she’s causing problems, just let them know.”

A piece of his soul wobbled but didn’t come loose. 

* * *

_Day 21_

After three weeks, his new favorite spot in the game was way up in the Frosty Mountains, a tiny little track that wound up the highest peak, smooth curved ice on one side, only wide enough for one kart. He didn’t think any of the other racers had bothered to explore their game much, but King Candy couldn’t get enough of it. It felt endless to him. Endless and bright and happy, sparkling under the lemon drop sun. No darkness, just candy and sunshine.

But he liked this particular spot because he could look out over the whole game, from the Rainbow Bridge to Sugar Rush Castle to Chocolate Town, from the turquoise Kool-Aid Sea to Layer Cake Hill to Chocolate Seashell Beach. It was—well it was beautiful. Gorgeous and 64-bit and _his_.

If King Candy had been prone to crying, he would have cried. But after everything he’d been through, he wasn’t going to cry now.

He looked out over _Sugar Rush_ —his _Sugar Rush_ —and crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.

 


End file.
